Before the Moon
by planet p
Summary: Story repost! AU; Margaret joins an anti-Center group. Written in '07. Ethan/OC


**Before the Moon** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

* * *

**A/n:** Written October 21, '07. Massively bland, I know. Kind of daft. Spasmodic! Ha, there's a funny word. Anyway, it's the story before _I am the moon, the moon is me_. Obviously, it's AU. Gemini (who I usually call Mo) is called Jorell in this one, and Harm's Lana. That's about it. I changed the title, too; just thought I'd let you know.

* * *

The afternoon air snapped with a brittle cool, twilight approaches, it said, be indoors with you.

Tabby was not ill accustomed to this cool, yet wore only jeans and a loose tee patterned in stripes of varying colours. She was putting up fliers today, fliers of Missing Persons, fliers of the dearly missed or dearly sought or simply faded from the smooth page of today.

Tabby herself had lost a child. Caleb had been a normal child of five. He was missing now.

She did not put up fliers in hope that she may turn up some new information on Caleb, none of those fliers bore his name nor his picture; she put them up for those who could not.

* * *

It was quite in this manner that Margaret came across Tabby, and when they got to talking, the elder woman found that the forty-something was very much like herself.

Tabby worked for a group who had been affected by the Center, they had taken her son after all, and sometimes she put up fliers.

This group did many things, and had several purposes. Tabby worked for Gift of the Sun, but she had a friend in The Tree of Beautiful Thoughts and knew a young man in Ribbons, a place where gifted children could go for help and not exploitation. The Tree of Beautiful Thoughts did counseling, that sort of thing; Gift of the Sun collected things, evidence, names, places, dates, in hopes that they may one day be able to prevent the same thing happening to other people. Tabby told Margaret she was a very hopeful person, best she could hope for was for them all to burn in hell, but wouldn't that be nice, if not a little ill-mannered, and was duly reassured by the elder woman that: oh, no, one could never be too ill-mannered when it came to child exploitation.

**

* * *

**

Gift of the Sun worked out of an office that was situated a top of a little fast food place, the set of stairs up there with a sharp turn right and cramped.

Ethan stood uncomfortably, Emily beside him, Margaret enthusiastic and Jorell lousy and hung over. Lana stood observantly to cover up for her confusion.

The newcomers were introduced to the others by Tabby and so forth. Emily snorted, but was silenced by a look from her mother that told her she was being very rude and disrespectful.

"Sal is a former social worker," Tabby introduced a thirty-something, "Cain is our hacker. Gasha, Howie and Seb. And I'm Tabby."

"Okay," Jorell began, "somebody tell me this is not all of you!"

"There _are_ more of us," Tabby agreed. "We take shifts." She fixed her face with an expression of good will. "Perhaps you could start by telling us a little about yourselves," she said, indicating to some seats, "and do feel free to sit."

Lana took a seat immediately.

"My name is Margaret," Margaret began, and Emily took a seat. "My two sons were taken from me by the Center."

Emily fixed her attention on the window. She was so sick of hearing the same thing over and over.

"My daughter, Emily-" Margaret was saying.

"That's me," Emily shot. "And she has nothing to say."

Margaret watched her daughter with a very stern expression. Emily wasn't paying attention. Emily tuned out the rest of her mother's speech.

It wasn't that she didn't care. She did care. She was just so sick of Margaret today.

* * *

Jorell had taken a seat, realizing that it was probably best. It wasn't going to stop his head from splitting, but it was hopefully going to stop him from losing his balance and falling over.

* * *

Tabby put some files out on a table.

Emily sat and listened to music on her mp3 player and didn't hear anything that was said at all.

The name on the file Tabby showed them first was William Raines.

"It's Doctor," Jorell added, "Dr. Raines. He's a doctor."

"A psychiatrist, yes," Tabby agreed. "You've heard of him?"

"Nah," Jorell told her, laughing.

"We're well aware of Raines," Ethan put in, because Jorell wasn't going to.

"We're good friends," Jorell joked. "Dr. Raines and I. Yup!"

"Jorell was brought up in the Center," Margaret explained.

"That's a lie!" Jorell yelled abruptly, startling his mother, and commenced laughing once more. "If you call that an up-bringing…"

Lana frowned sadly.

Tabby was watching Jorell. "You are one of the gifted?" she asked carefully.

Jorell laughed, face in his hands. "Yeah! Yeah, I'm special."

"That's enough," Emily declared. "We're taking a walk."

Jorell stood unsteadily and they walked out together.

Margaret had had no right disclosing that. That was personal, and she was out of line. Emily had to leave before she told her mother off in front of all of those people.

* * *

Emily sat down in the fast food shop and drank her coffee, Jorell having chosen a bottle of water.

* * *

Lana picked up a photograph and smiled. "Oh, he was pretty."

Margaret took the picture from her friend and put it back down with the other things in the manila folder.

Ethan watched Lana for a moment. Lana had amnesia. She didn't remember who she was. "Lana," he said, "do you know this person?" picking the picture up once more.

"No," Lana said and smiled.

Ethan frowned because Lana was smiling. "Do you know who this is?"

"He was a psychiatrist, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was, and is." Margaret was talking with Tabby, Ethan ignored her. It wasn't that Lana didn't smile, but it wasn't the same. It was the way he would expect a parent to smile, so very proud. "Lana, what do you think about the person in the photograph?"

"I suppose he's not a good person."

"Why is that, Lana?"

"Margaret said so."

Ethan shook his head. "What do you think, Lana? What about Lana?"

"I think Margaret wouldn't lie about something like that."

"Look at the photo. Tell me what you see."

Lana frowned, confused. "He's young. Sixteen, perhaps. He's in the Air force. It's the uniform."

"And what about bad? Do you think he's a bad person?"

"I don't know," Lana said, annoyed now. How could she know? It was a picture, just a picture.

"Did you know this person, Lana?"

"NO!"

"Ethan," Margaret interrupted, "there's no need for ridiculous questions!"

Ethan replaced the photograph in the file and didn't look at Margaret.

Lana joined Margaret talking with the others and Ethan was left on his own. He turned the file around and looked through it.

There was a picture of Edna, a note that said that she had been a doctor. Annie at fifteen, school uniform, black school shoes, smiling. She had been playing soccer out in the front yard, the grass too dead, the summer too hot, her school bag dropped by the front steps. Her white school socks were prickled with cut grass (a day old?), grass in her hair and on her dress. The boy with her was perhaps two years her junior, his bag beside hers at the front step. Ethan smiled and turned the picture over, placed it down in the file.

Born in 1939, one year younger than Ethan's own mother, Raines had started at the Center when he was nineteen and he'd been working there since.

He flipped through the remainder of the file, and thought that it had been some time.

"She worked in pediatrics," he said, approaching the group, "Edna."

Tabby regarded him for a moment, took the file he extended toward her.

"She was a good person."

* * *

Ethan sat down with a coke. Emily and Jorell weren't talking and he was glad for it. The three of them just sat there. It was like that a lot. None of them really fit in. Emily, the daughter who was never quite enough; Ethan, who was another woman's child, and Jorell, clone of Margaret's oldest son, just to think! All they really had were each other.

There were secrets – oh, were there secrets! – but that never held them back, because friends respected each other their space, their secrets. When one was only dealing with something themselves it was best to let them their breathing space.

Resentment did not last, one was truthful and sometimes harsh, but always there to comfort.

Emily laughed suddenly, and Ethan and Jorell smiled because they didn't need to understand that it was not threatening or inappropriate.

* * *

"There's something seriously wrong with you," Margaret shouted. "Do you have any idea what those people are going to think of you now? What they're going to think of all of us?" Emily and she were arguing again. Margaret was not happy with her daughter's performance earlier.

Emily scoffed. "You had no right!" she screamed back. "Dad was in the Air force with him! Did you hear me telling them that? No! Edna was dad's sister! Did I say anything? No! Did I tell them how you killed that little boy? NO!" Emily laughed and stormed out of the room before she slapped her mother across the mouth.

Margaret didn't try to stop her, she couldn't think about anything, just those words: Did I tell them how you killed that little boy?

* * *

Emily cried into the mattress. She was so mad.

Ethan and Jorell stood in the other room and didn't know what to do. It wasn't as though they had been trying to hear, but Emily had been shouting, and loud shouting at that.

* * *

Emily was sleeping when Ethan came into the room, a ribbon of green apples wound around her left wrist. Ethan had seen it before, she had been wearing it in her hair.

He reached over and took up the book she had been reading, Animal Farm by George Orwell. Emily liked to fold the pages over in a dog ear, but this one had a bookmark too. It wasn't unusual, Emily collected bookmarks. All sorts, bookmarks for UFO groups, bookmarks for fundraisers such as cake baking competitions, bookmarks for national weeks of importance: national literacy week, Harmony Day. But this one was a picture.

The picture showed a child all of nine years old, a younger Emily, and a younger Charles.

He slotted the photograph back where it had been earlier and placed the book on top her laptop and quietly left the room. He had left her puffer right where it was on the mattress in case she had needed it.

**

* * *

**

Emily, being a journalist, had joined a UFO enthusiasts group and co-wrote their fortnightly paper. Margaret had been unimpressed but Emily just didn't care.

Ethan was glad for her. He didn't tell her about the meetings. She was happier that way, he thought. Perhaps she didn't think he had gone back?

Margaret went every week, and so Ethan had decided he needed to go also. He wasn't going to spy on them or anything. He believed in their cause as much as they did. He just needed to know that none of them were going to be a threat to Parker, his mother, Catherine's, daughter. She was his sister.

Charles had come to meet the group once, but he had had to go again. Jarod and Zoe had been once or twice, but Jarod never stayed long. Zoe had decided to take up Charles's offer to travel with him, to try to find her some help, and so Jarod had gone on his way alone.

Ethan had spent considerable time with Gasha, a twenty-something who did mostly research. She was compiling notes on the gene anomaly and its link to gifted children and such, names and dates of possible children, birthdays, the names and occupations of family members, place of birth. Jorell, Ethan noted, was now on the list. The text following went something like this: _Age, at early 20s. Anomaly suspected present in DNA. Expression unknown. Mother, father, brother, sister. Association, William Raines. Raised in custody of the Center Corporation, taken from family as a small boy._

Ethan felt no compelling need to correct her. Margaret had been talking of Jarod and Kyle when she had mentioned two sons taken from her, but Jorell was a clone of one of those sons and had never known his parents before his escape. And, of course, Ethan knew that Jorell was a Pretender, but neither did he supply any of this insight to Gasha. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. He quite liked her.

* * *

"Gasha?"

Gasha looked around at Ethan. They were going through newspapers.

"You're not special, are you?" The young woman frowned and Ethan hurried to correct himself. "What I mean is, you don't have this anomaly, do you?"

"No," she said.

Ethan considered her reply.

"Emily seems very opposed to what we do here," she said suddenly.

"I think she thinks it's great what you do here," Ethan told her. "I just think it's hard for her sometimes."

"Does she have the anomaly too?"

"No. She's just had a tough time growing up always thinking maybe tomorrow she'll be taken away by a bad corporation and she'll never see her family again."

"I understand."

Ethan sighed. In truth, he didn't exactly know why Emily was the way she was, but she was Emily. He supposed, were he in her situation, perhaps he might act the same way.

* * *

Ethan didn't know until three days later, and that was only because Gasha had the courtesy to inform him, as she was curious as to who this person was and thought that perhaps Ethan could tell her something useful about them.

Ethan, somewhat worried now, told Gasha that Lyle was an associate of Raines and that she should not talk to him.

Gasha nodded and sat down as though thinking that he might have some more to tell her. "What does he do?" she asked. "Is he a psychiatrist too? Or a doctor perhaps?"

"No. He does other things."

"He has a record with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," she supplied.

"Does he?"

"Yes. Cain said so. I asked him why but he doesn't know yet. But when he finds out I'll tell you. He is very good, you know. Cain."

Ethan nodded.

"What sort of other things does he do?"

Ethan was reminded of a child, always asking questions, and with that soft voice of hers, even more so. "I'm not sure exactly. I've only ever heard of him." Okay, so that was a lie, but as though he was about to declare a sociopath his half brother!

"Do you think he's very dangerous?"

"I'd imagine so."

"Do you think I would be allowed to talk to him?"

"I doubt it."

Gasha shrugged. "Do you suppose he talks much?"

"I'm not sure."

She sighed. "You just don't get along?" she said contemplatively.

Ethan frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Gasha's eyes got very big. "Oh nothing!" she said, and said no more.

She made sure to busy herself with research for the remainder of the night and there was no follow up conversation.

* * *

Tabby took Ethan aside as he came in for the morning.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, confused.

Tabby said nothing until they had reached the consultation room. "I assume you have been made aware of our most recent acquisition?"

Ethan tried not to shiver, but the word acquisition reminded him too much of the Center. He nodded because he didn't feel as though he could speak.

Tabby nodded also. "Very well," she said. "That is all you need to know for now. If anything comes to you in regard to the acquisitioned the name you need to ask for is mine and I shall ensure it reaches the appropriate ears. Do you have anything to add?"

Ethan really wished he didn't have to, but it needed to be said, because he needed to know. "There is an organization. I'm not going to tell you their name, because I don't know it," (a lie). "This organization sets out certain rules for those groups who may be interested in trading in this particular industry. In exchange for abiding by these rules, these groups are offered what might be termed as amnesty from the governments in which countries they are seated. This organization will make the appropriate steps to finance funding for these groups, find them clientele, things like that. But if they break the rules, they can no longer trade under the amnesty of this organization, nor are they offered any sort of guarantee against rival groups. My question to you is, do you have rules?"

Tabby took her time in answering, having been listening to Ethan going on. "Are we moral people?" she asked, and then in answer: "Yes."

"His name is Lyle. He works for Raines. He has the anomaly, and it's not recessive; it's expressed."

Tabby nodded and Ethan left the room without any further words.

* * *

Ethan was eating lunch, he just didn't feel very hungry, and Gasha had given him one of her sandwiches. "Why did you join?" he asked.

Gasha frowned momentarily. "It was not me," was all she said, and Ethan understood enough not to press the matter.

**

* * *

**

Gasha lived in a small apartment. She had many old medical texts in her bookshelf, and a large photographic print of an airplane sitting on the tarmac of a big airport. A huge stuffed zebra named Zabdiel sat on the sofa. A swing number played from the stereo across the room.

Gasha sat at the kitchen table with a glass of cordial and listened to a cassette over a single deck tape player. The cassette was a recording of a man talking. It was a seminar if her memory served her right. She hadn't been there, she had simply listened to the cassette tape before. It was some thirty years ago now. She supposed she just liked to hear his voice, a picture wasn't the same.

* * *

It was a Tuesday. A meeting had been called in the consultation room. Tabby introduced the group to a woman named Gemma, who looked to be in her early to mid 30s.

Gemma was a therapist, or had been. Her hope was that Lyle might be persuaded to assist them in their cause, at which Ethan had to suppress a laugh. They had made a start, she said.

Margaret was not pleased. "He can't be trusted. You must realize that."

Gemma simply nodded, and the meeting was wrapped up by Tabby.

Margaret stayed back to talk to her.

* * *

"Oh he's not going to be persuaded!" Ethan told Gasha and Sal.

"Personally, I wouldn't trust a thing that he says," Sal put in. "He's not right, if you know what I mean."

"Mad?" Gasha burst out as though surprised, the way she often did, fully animated, her voice abandoning all softness.

"No. That one's not mad. There's nothing ill about him. He's just a lunatic."

Gasha frowned. She didn't understand, but Ethan understood perfectly.

* * *

"Evil's the only word I could think of. I came by them in my work," Sal said with a laugh that sounded as though she were Santa Claus. "You do not want to meet these people!"

Ethan could agree with that.

Gasha remained silent.

Sal leant over although she didn't lower her voice. "She's a thoughtful one, Gasha is."

Gasha pretended as though she hadn't heard.

"I'm not rightly sure why she joined us, but good for her, good for us!" She smacked her hand down on the table. "You're a good one, Gasha!"

Ethan smiled. So Sal didn't know either.

* * *

Four weeks later

Regency was a friend of Tabby's who worked in Ribbons. Sal and Ethan had taken the subway there.

Ethan was introduced to a girl named Ping. Ping was psychometric, she would have visions when she touched certain things.

Sal and Ping were friends and she wrote to Sal often. It had been Sal who had saved her from the bad people.

There were other children too. An African American girl watched the group from across the room. That was Pearl, Regency supplied, she was fifteen and psychic, but she rarely spoke.

Obadiah was very clever. The term, Regency informed the two visitors, was Pretender.

Scheherazad was a woman Regency worked with. She was psychic and she was able to school the new arrivals who displayed psychic abilities.

* * *

"The children don't live here," Regency explained. "We have sessions. It is very much like an after school activity. We run multiple sessions, and they are not just for children."

"So nobody lives in?" Ethan asked.

"There are a few," Regency admitted. "The ones that cannot function outside on their own. We look after them here. Silvio is a psychiatrist here who helps."

Ethan nodded.

* * *

They had passed through the classrooms and were now following a wide corridor, empty, except for the doors lining either wall.

"Arin," Regency said, indicating toward a small room with a nod of his head, "does not leave us."

The woman inside simply sat.

"She might be catatonic, we can't be sure." He sighed. "Pearl lives with us also. She is allowed in the sessions. She does not hurt the others."

Sal nodded knowingly.

* * *

Sal and Ethan had hot coffee from a jar of instant and water from an urn. Silvio, the psychiatrist, was taking a break and they were introduced.

They took the subway back again.

* * *

"It was definitely insightful," Ethan said to Sal and laughed.

Sal nodded and stopped by the bathroom. She held up a hand in gesture of departure and Ethan nodded and continued on around the corner.

* * *

Sal tied her hair up at the back in a pony tail, watching the mirror consciously. "Gasha?" she said suddenly, having noted the younger woman in the mirror.

Gasha, sitting at one of the toilets, shut the door with her shoe.

"Gasha, are you okay?" Sal asked, worried.

Gasha didn't answer.

"Gasha?" Sal tried again.

"I want to be on my own," Gasha said from the other side of the door, her voice bland.

Sal stood there for a moment. "Okay," she said. "I'm going out now, so you're going to be on your own, but if you need anything, you come and ask me."

Gasha once again did not reply.

* * *

"I think you would have found it interesting," Ethan said to Gasha, noting that she had come into the room. "You should visit some time."

"No thank you," she mumbled and stalked to her desk the way she always walked.

Ethan dropped his attention to the newspapers and journals he was perusing through.

* * *

Gasha couldn't sleep. She had tried her best, but it didn't work. She was tired, she wanted to sleep.

She rolled over, hugging Zabi, and watched the world outside her window. It never stopped.

* * *

The artificial light hummed away above her head. She placed the bottle of schnapps on the kitchen table with an unsteady chink and pressed a number into her cell phone. She paused. It was late, she knew. She put her head down on the table and pressed the button to make a call and listened as it rang and rang.

"William Raines."

"How do I make it stop?" she asked in a slurring voice, and laughed. "It won't stop. I want to be sick."

"Agatha-" he began.

"HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP?" she screamed. She pushed the chair suddenly and ran to be sick, hunched over the kitchen sink, whilst her legs didn't seem to want to hold her up.

She had slid down the cupboards, sitting on the floor and shaking. "I have to go now," she said to the phone, fresh tears on her cheeks, and she didn't listen to what he said next, just pressed the button to end the call.

* * *

It was late, too late. But out there it never stopped. Lyle hummed to the dark. It was late.

**

* * *

**

Five months later

Scheherazad stood across the room and smiled. Margaret watched the woman with apprehension.

Ethan frowned at the door.

Emily strolled over and sat down beside Ethan. "Hi."

Ethan tried his best not to gape.

"I've got the day free."

Ethan nodded.

Emily looked around the room interestedly.

Gemma entered the room with Tabby and the two made their way over to where Scheherazad had stationed herself.

Emily observed them chatting.

After some moments, Gemma left the room and Tabby stepped to the front, Scheherazad having taken a seat.

* * *

"Friends and co-workers," Tabby began. "Gemma has come to some progress with Lyle."

Ethan made to stand when Gemma came into the room followed by Lyle. He remained seated, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"I would like to introduce you all to Jacob," Gemma announced, and turned to regard Lyle, now Jacob, who watched them all with a blank expression.

Gasha dropped her eyes to the table, Margaret had fixed her face with a suitable glare, Sal disapproving.

"He is quite safe," Gemma said. "He is no longer the person he once was." She momentarily regarded the silent room. "Our intention is for him to return to the Center as our informant. There is a dilemma here however. He does not recall that person." She sighed. "This is why we intend him to be assigned what we call a Controller. The Controller will allow him to pretend to be his former personality without the off chance of his becoming Lyle. How does this work? Quite simply because he is a Pretender."

Emily stood abruptly. "I'll do it."

Gemma frowned. "We had intended for the Controller to be a psychic."

Emily watched her without comment.

Ethan stood to take her from the room.

"Very well," Gemma replied. "We will talk." She turned to Tabby in indication that it would be fine for her to finish up the meeting. "Thank you, Tabby."

Ethan didn't hear what Tabby said because he was watching Emily and Gemma who had left the room to talk, Scheherazad in tow with Jacob.

* * *

Margaret had nothing to say. Ethan was afraid that she was not okay.

Sal was telling Ethan loudly how she thought it was all a hoax, and Ethan did not see any reason not to agree with her, he was certainly of a strong skepticism and would remain so.

Gasha was trying hard not to portray her upset.

"There is absolutely nothing to fear," Tabby told them all, congregated out in the corridor. "Gemma knows what she is doing."

Ethan refrained from laughter and suggested they go for a drink. Sal quickly noted her acquiesce and the group dispersed from the corridor.

* * *

Margaret did not join the group who trekked to the bar. She went home to await her daughter's return with Lana.

Ethan and Sal had quite a few drinks together. Gasha sat with them but did not join in the conversation. It was mostly Ethan and Sal talking, Cain occasionally adding his opinion. Cain walked with Gasha to the bus and rode with her to her apartment to ensure she got home safe and sound.

* * *

Jarod returned early in the morning, 5am. Margaret sat awake in the bright kitchen.

"Mom?"

"Your sister's done a foolish thing," Margaret said.

Jarod put his things down and sat down.

Margaret began to explain. First, the acquisition of Lyle, and then the meeting yesterday.

Jarod closed his eyes. What was he to say to her? Emily was a very determined person. She would not be easily dissuaded.

But he had to admit he was surprised. Lyle had thrown her out of an upstairs window after all. She might have died.

He stood, leant over, and patted his mother's hand. "I'll fix it, mom," he promised, hoping that his promise would not turn out to be a lie. "You look tired."

Margaret nodded.

"I could-" he began, turning toward the sideboard where an electric kettle sat.

"No," Margaret replied. "I think I'm too tired even to drink tea."

Jarod smiled and watched her leave the room. "Goodnight, mom," he said in a soft voice. She might not have heard him. The prospect did not upset him.

It would be daylight soon. He sighed and wondered just what he would do with his little sister.

**

* * *

**

Jarod confronted Emily in the bathroom where she had been being sick. She froze at the door and made to slam it shut. Jarod pushed his way inside stubbornly. Emily glared, her arms folded across her chest. She looked lousy.

"You look ill."

"Oh stuff you!" was her reply as she attempted to barge past him.

Jarod took hold of her upper arms.

"Don't touch me!" she shot, backing away from him severely. She came up against the farthest end of the room. A poky little room, vinyl tile squares all in a pattern, black and white check floor, window and mirrored cabinet door to her back, hands gripping a chipped basin.

"We need to talk," Jarod stated plainly.

Emily laughed. "Get out of my way!" she screamed, lunging at him.

Jarod didn't try to stop her leaving. It was no good talking to her when she was like that. She'd be sober by lunch.

* * *

She turned the corner and Jarod was there. "No," she said.

"Emily," he began, "you're making a big mist-"

"No, I said."

Jarod stopped and watched her as she strode away from him. He wanted to scream after her how unfair it was. He had promised mom.

It seemed far too petty, to start screaming over it. A screaming match would only cause to cheapen his concern, and his concern was one thing that was not cheap. He genuinely worried, as did Margaret.

* * *

"Did you have sex with her?"

"What?" Ethan looked up from the box he had taken from the shelf and was met with Gasha's blue eyes, having turned from the shelf to pass the box to her.

Gasha was not intimidated, her voice perfectly serious. "Sal. Did you have sex with her?"

"No," Ethan replied, looking away from her. He held out the box for her to take without looking.

Gasha scoffed. The box dropped from her hands in a clutter, landing with a thud. Her eyes seemed to glow brighter as she watched him from beneath heavy lashes.

She stepped over the box in one swift movement and backed Ethan up against the shelving.

"Stop me!" The voice that spoke was deep and not her own and in a barking order.

A long knobby finger stroked sharp down the line of his jaw. Ethan, alarmed and unsure, pushed her roughly from him.

There was something not right here and Gasha was at the center of it.

Angered, Gasha took after Ethan, clamping a hand onto his upper arm. He was swung around and slammed into a desk with horrible thump that took the air out of his lungs.

Gasha was crouched over him, a knee either side, his arms held to the desk halfway between wrist and elbow so that he could not sit. She watched complacently from that position, looking down on him.

"I told you to stop me," she growled, dipping swiftly to kiss his mouth.

Her mouth was warm and tasted of banana from the smoothie she'd had for breakfast.

Ethan yowled. Gasha retracted from him, her grip on his arm's tightening painfully. Ethan shot her a fierce look, tasting blood in his mouth from where she had bitten him, his own blood.

Gasha, concluding that he was not serious, dropped her mouth to his again.

* * *

The artificial light his only company, Jacob sat in corner of his cell. His head fell back onto his shoulder and his eyes went in his head, the light overhead too loud like the sound of drilling.

* * *

Ethan breathed mutely, his eyes too large, the bawl of Gasha's harsh gasping and gulping numbing his head. He sucked in a sharp breath and laughed.

The pair sat, and with dizzying speed Ethan yanked her around and pressed her down. He grinned, planted on top of her.

Gasha closed her eyes compliantly. Ethan stooped and planted a demanding kiss on her marshmallow soft breast.

* * *

Emily sat in front of a desk in an office that was really too small. Gemma sat on the other side. She spoke in a clarifying voice. She could have been a high school guidance counselor.

"The Controller is there as a safeguard. The subject requires at all times to be aware that the exercise _is_ an exercise, and whilst the active application aims to achieve as realistic an exterior as possible, it is not reality. Reality is that it is an informed imitation, or emulation if you will. Pretenders are incredibly efficient at mimicking, but if not careful, they tend to fall into the trap of their own game."

Emily took a breath. "Safeguard," she considered heavily.

* * *

"How am I going so far? Have I got you convinced yet?"

Emily laughed shortly, and shot Gemma a fleeting pained smile as though to say it would be difficult but she was up for it.

Behind the desk, Gemma stood and clapped her hands together. "Right then, time for you to meet Jacob. Again."

Emily smiled because she wasn't up for talking.

* * *

Gemma strode into the room, noting Jacob over in the corner. "Jacob," she said, plain but illustrating her command. "Jacob," she placed a hand on his face and found that it was hot. "Where are you?"

His eyes seem to take a moment to focus and he stood.

"You have a visitor," Gemma declared. She turned to Emily, who was stood by the door. "This is Emily. You're going to be working together."

Emily, stepping away from the door, moved further into the room, careful not to let her nervousness betray her. "Hi."

"Hi."

Gemma frowned, satisfied for the moment.

Emily forced a smile onto her face, held out a hand in greeting.

Jacob stood there for a moment, completely blank.

Gemma sighed heavily. "He doesn't know what to do," she said hastily, the disappointment showing in her voice. "Jacob," she said loudly, turning on Jacob, "she needs you to shake her hand." Taking Emily's hand herself, she demonstrated. "It is a gesture of greeting."

Jacob stuck out his hand.

"Clearly there is a lot of work still to be done."

Jacob looked around at her slowly.

Emily, stepping closer to Jacob, took his hand to shake it.

Jacob, his attention quickly returning to Emily, pulled his hand away and took a hasty step backward.

Emily, alarmed, reacted in much the same way.

Gemma glanced briefly at Emily in frustration – for Jacob's progress and not Emily undoubtedly. "Sit here," she told Jacob loudly, having taken his arms and steering him over to the bed.

"Here," he said and sat.

Gemma, discomfited, turned to Emily in indication that they should leave the room, gesturing a hand that way. "I'm really sorry about that," she said, once they were out of the room.

Emily smiled with difficulty. "I must have alarmed him," she said in speculation.

Gemma frowned severely. "It is not a perfect thing," she said, and Emily supposed that it was some dismissal of her earlier remark and perhaps intended comfortingly.

* * *

Emily sat cross-legged on her bed, music playing from across the room.

* * *

"Emily?"

Emily glanced quickly toward the door where Jarod stood. He shut the door behind him. Emily looked away.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She ignored him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "How did it go?"

"Fine," she managed to force herself to say, staring at the wall ahead of her.

"Emily-?"

"I want you to go."

Jarod, refraining from a sigh, stood and cleared the room. Emily said nothing.

* * *

Ethan, sat on the desk, buttoned up his shirt.

Gasha, who had walked to the other end of the room to be away from him, stood in a corner, facing the wall. She pressed her forehead to the wall and cried.

Ethan slid off the desk. He touched her on the arms.

She stopped breathing suddenly. "I didn't mean to do that," she said, and then she turned to him, pausing briefly, before she ran from the room.

Ethan stared after her, confused.

* * *

"I don't want to be a freak!" Gasha yelled into the phone. "I want to be normal!"

"Agatha-!"

"Don't tell me I'm not," she laughed. "They don't come any freakier! So enter me in a sideshow. I can peddle around on a little bicycle and people can laugh at me!" She sniffed. "Someone could make a good business."

"Agatha-"

"I DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE YOU!"

**

* * *

**

Gasha sat at her desk, doing nothing that Ethan could tell of, the lamp light on, but doing nothing.

Ethan, shutting the door, started in her direction.

"Please don't," she said softly.

"Are you alright?" Ethan asked.

"I'm fine." She looked at the ceiling. "I won't do that again."

"Was it a very bad thing for you?" Ethan asked plainly before he could stop himself.

Gasha sniffed, a tear sliding down her face. "It didn't mean anything," she told him. "It was just my time. You were a good specimen."

Ethan laughed.

Gasha spun in her chair. "It isn't like you think," she said. "I did like you. I _do_ like you. But it's different now. I can't take it back."

Ethan shook his head.

"I wished we could be friends."

"If it didn't mean anything," Ethan shot angrily, "then _why_ do it?"

Gasha didn't look at him. "I needed to reproduce." She caught his glare and held it.

He laughed incredulously. "That's good. I'll remember that," he told her.

Gasha stood suddenly, violently.

Ethan stopped her before she reached the door, took her arm and stopped her. He slammed her up against the door. "Thank you so much!" he shouted. "Gasha! I really owe you one – for really_ fucking me up_!" He shoved her at the door, released her arms and let himself step back.

Gasha, frightened, grabbed the door and slipped out of the room.

Ethan laughed, dropped his face into his hands and turned away from the door, laughing.

* * *

Two months later

Ethan placed a thumb on her lips, smiling, and leant in to kiss her. Sal smiled too.

* * *

They didn't talk, not if it was necessary not to. There was no reason really.

Gasha placed a file down in front of Ethan. He didn't like her being so close so he ignored her. She wasn't there.

"I'm pregnant," she said, and it took some time for Ethan to realize she had been talking to him and try to recall what she had said of a clear head. In any case, she was across the room by that time. Ethan was confused. It hurt his head. "What do you want?" he asked from the other side of the room.

Gasha ignored him, or didn't hear him.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?" he yelled.

"I don't want you to do anything," she said, on her feet now. "I feel sick." She left the room, looking sick.

* * *

"Wait!" He ran to catch her up.

Gasha didn't wait.

* * *

"Are we serious?"

Sal looked around at Ethan, sat on the bed.

He took his hand from her shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"I want a family."

Sal watched him. "You want us to have a baby?" she asked after some time.

"I want you to have a baby. I want us to make a baby."

She placed a thumb on his lips, and kissed him.

* * *

They named her Cathy, after Ethan's mother. They didn't look a thing alike.

Cathy had taken after her mother, gotten her tan from her father.

Ethan loved her so much. Too much, he thought sometimes.

Sal and he lived together. He worked. Work always started too early and he was always too tired when he came home.

* * *

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Pearl! Happy Birthday to you!"

Pearl smiled happily, rocking back and forth. Silvio sat beside her.

Gasha smiled, baby girl held to her. "Happy Birthday," Gasha said, kissing Brolly on the head. "A big breath," she said.

"Go on, Pearl," Silvio encouraged.

Pearl leant forward and blew the candle out.

Gasha clapped, a big smile on her face.

* * *

**That's it. Would anyone be interested in a rewrite, at all? Let me know, if so. And thanks for reading. Comments are appreciated.**


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